Impossible to Win
by Labellefemmeecrivain
Summary: Response to: What if Sam and Dean had Max's childhood? First fanfic.
1. Impossible to Win

Impossible to Win

"Kick it over here, Sammy," Dean called out.

The two brothers had been playing soccer behind their house for the entire afternoon while their dad was away investigating their latest case. The sun was beginning to set and mosquitoes menacingly zipped around the dimming air. Sam dribbled the ball skillfully, juggling it back and forth between his feet, encased in worn sneakers.

"It's Sam, and you're going to have to come get it," taunted the ten-year-old.

Dean immediately rushed forward and came to tackle his brother to the ground before grabbing up the soccer ball. Running to the opposite side of the yard, he slammed the ball down triumphantly, screaming, "Touchdown!"

"Wrong game, dufus," protested Sam. "No hands in soccer."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Dean!" their father called from the house.

"Yes sir?"

"Get in here right now."

Dean kicked the ball over to Sam. "I'll be right out."

"Sure you will."

"Come on, Sam. What could he possibly have to say to me? I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh he'll find something."

"Dean!" their father called again. "Now means now!"

"Yes sir," Dean replied quickly as he rushed into the house.

Sam kicked at the dirt in the patchy lawn before plopping down on top of the now motionless ball. He began pulling up tufts of grass as he indistinctly heard sounds of his father screaming at Dean. He tried to feign indifference, to block out the noise and ignore the building anticipation he felt in the gut of his stomach. He waited for what he knew would soon come as it always did.

SMACK. Followed by a dull thud and the squeak of the table being pushed back unwillingly against the floor. Then silence.

Tears threatened to escape Sam's eyes, but he struggled to keep them back.

Momentarily Dean came outside, walking in an overly cocky manner.

"Told you I'd be right back."

Sam got up from the ball and kicked it away only to chase after it again. He needed an excuse to turn away from his brother. He didn't want Dean to see him crying because then there would be an awkward acknowledgement between the two of what had just occurred. Once he reached the ball, Sam began rolling it with his right foot while keeping his nonchalant attitude.

Dean came up behind him.

"Hey, Sam…" he started softly. "Dad says no more soccer."

Sam quickly turned around to face him.

"What? Why not?"

"He says that it's a waste of time and we should be training instead."

"Training for what?"

"To fight off the bad guys, of course," said Dean with a quick smile.

Sam gave his brother a look of incredulity.

"Why do we even bother? We can never win. No matter how many we kill, there will always be more out there. You realize that, don't you?"

"Sure I know that. But that's even more reason for why we've got to train. So we can follow in dad's footsteps and keep killing baddies, and then our kids will follow us, and theirs will follow them."

"No, Dean. It's not fair, and it's not going to be like that for me, or my kids. I'm ending it here."

"Please, Sam," said Dean, as his eyes searched imploringly into his brother's. "Look, I know you don't like it, but let's just make dad happy for now, okay? He says that from now on, when he goes out like he did today, we ought to spar, run laps, or practice shooting."

"How's he going to know whether we followed this little planned pie chart of his?"

"He's gonna test us."

"And how exactly does that work?"

"We've got to fight him. If we win, he knows we've been training hard enough. And if we lose…"

"He beats our asses again for failing."

"And then we'll just have to keep training harder."

"This is just a bullshit, self-entitled way for dad to abuse us."

"Don't talk like that, Sam."

"We can never win, Dean."  
Dean paused and let out an exasperated sigh. "I know, but—let's just go wash up for dinner, huh?"

Sam kicked the ball with all his force and strode off in the direction of the house as the ball rolled away into the brush surrounding their yard.

"We can never win," he repeated under his breath.


	2. A Brief Reunion

A/N: A couple years later.

Chapter 2

Dean closed the door of his Chevy Impala as he slung the black garbage bag over his shoulder. His eyes scanned Stanford University's campus, absorbing the unfamiliar atmosphere with college students moving about the quad. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled note. Scribbled quickly in Sam's handwriting was the name and address of Sam's dorm. Sam had slipped it to him right before walking out the door with their father still raving and cursing.

_Branner_.

After gaining assistance from several students (all attractive librarian-type females), Dean found his way to a tan-colored stone building. He rushed inside just as several students were exiting and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. Almost too soon, he found himself waiting outside Sam's dorm room.

Clearing his throat, he rehearsed, "Hey, Sam. I just came by to…"

Dean was cut off as an attractive blond opened the door, calling over her shoulder, "See you later, honey."

She almost bumped into Dean, who quickly jumped back.

"Hi," she said, curious. "Are you looking for someone?"

Dean would have normally flirted and made some suave comment but at the moment his mind was preoccupied.

"Uhh…. Do you know where I could find a Sam Winchester?"

"Yeah, he's right in there. Do you want me to get him?"

"No, that's okay," Dean said quickly, but the girl had already called out over him, "Hey Sam, there's someone here to see you."

She then turned to Dean and smiled. "Well, I've got to get to class now. I hope you're all set."

"Yes, thank you."

His eyes followed her down the stairs until a movement at the door redirected his attention.

"Dean?"

And there was Sam, just as Dean remembered. He was still his tall and lanky self, with a tense look and baggy clothes. But now his hair had grown out longer, breaking away from the short militaristic style hair-cut their father required, and though he still looked stressed, there was a look of liveliness in his eyes that Dean had not seen since their early childhood.

Dean roughly cleared his throat. "How's it been going?"

"Good, very good. Wow, man. I haven't seen you for months. Why didn't you call or something?"

"You could have called too."

"I would've, but I didn't want to risk dad picking up."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said brusquely. "Listen, I just came by to drop off some of your stuff. I know you didn't have that much time to pack, and I thought you might want some of this sentimental crap…so here."

Dean shoved the garbage bag towards Sam's chest, and Sam awkwardly cradled it.

"Thanks," he said, eyeing it. "What's in here exactly?"

"Oh you know, some of your books and a couple of photos…Wuzzy."

Sam smirked as he thought about his make-shift stuffed animal, which was really just an old hand towel. Their father had prohibited his sons from ever having stuffed animals, thinking that they were too babyish and sissy. So Dean had taken a towel from one of their many motels and tied it into a knot for Sam to cuddle at night. They had named it Wuzzy, for the W emblem at the corner and for its fuzzy texture. Sam had kept it in his coat pocket on hunts, and had held onto it whenever he was scared. Over the years, Wuzzy had become torn and dirty.

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean smiled briefly.

"Well, I better get going. Dad thinks I am checking out a local legend over in Washington."

"All right. I understand. But I wish you could stay a little longer. I could show you around the campus. Maybe we could grab a couple of beers."

"Excuse me, young man, but I believe you are still underage." The brothers both smiled at this. Dean had slipped Sam his first beer from their dad's massive stack in the fridge when Dean had been 13 and Sam 9. Even though Sam had only taken a sip, it was enough to make him loopy for the rest of the day, causing their dad to erupt. Fortunately, he didn't suspect that beer was the reason behind it; otherwise, the boys would have really been dead.

"I really should go. You probably have exams to study for and essays to write anyway."

"Yeah, because I'd rather be reviewing the Supreme Court's briefing in Roe vs. Wade than hanging out with my older brother who I haven't seen in 6 months."

There was an awkward pause as Dean grappled for words.

"I've…missed you—your goofy looking face. I've got nothing to laugh at anymore."

"You could try looking in the mirror."

Dean punched his brother in the arm. "See you around. Okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I hope so, Deano."


End file.
